


Soul by Soul and Silently

by Theophila



Category: Blues Brothers (1980)
Genre: Gen, Tribute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theophila/pseuds/Theophila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The love that never falters, the love that pays the price, the love that makes undaunted, the final sacrifice...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul by Soul and Silently

**Author's Note:**

> Rememberance Day is coming up, and listening to Taps reminded me of my character, Eleanor, who was raised as an army brat. She becomes a blues sister, along with Scarlett (who belongs to Teresa). After talking to Teresa, we agreed that it could be written as a tribute to Curtis, though I also wanted to make it a tribute to those who gave their lives in service of their countries.

_This story is written in tribute to Cab Calloway, and also to the men and women who gallantly gave their lives in service to their countries, in World Wars I and II, and all wars since._

_***_

 

It was a particularly cold November morning that found Eleanor at the graveyard in Chicago. Gathered around her were her closest friends – the two men and the woman who had become her family – as she stood in silence before a grave marked with a simple white cross.

 

Various graves around them were littered with candles, flowers and photos. This one was more or less bare of decoration. A small plague offered up a name, two dates, and a blessing upon the one interred here:

 

_Curtis Salgado_

_1907 – 1994_

“_I vow to thee my country – all earthly things above –_

_Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love.”_

 

She had never known this man, but Elwood's stories, and her upbringing in the army, which had instilled a sense of paradoxical sanctity of life, brought her to the man's side, with the suggestion that, as Armistice Day was upcoming, it might be a fine time to visit his mentor's final resting place. Elwood had blinked and looked at her blankly when she had said it, but after some thought, agreed that yes, it seemed only right.

 

Eleanor sat a wreath atop the grave, leaning slightly on the white cross marker, before stepping back and making the sign of the cross. Zee and Elwood took off their hats, resting them against their chests, Elwood bowing his head. Scarlett likewise crossed herself, her face concealed with a veil. Eleanor stared at the cross, trying not to think that, one day, she would be doing the same for Charles. How many times, for that matter, had she watched her father and his colleagues, laying wreaths on Memorial Day? Her mind cast back to her teenage years, spent partially in London, where she had observed survivors of the first and second world wars, paying their respects at the Cenotaph. In homage to them, she had bought a paper-and-plastic poppy, fastened to the button-hole of her coat, just as she had in London all those years ago.

 

The words of the plaque reminded her of the hymn that had been sung that day – it was traditional, based off the music of Gustav Holst. It spoke of, “the love that asks no question, the love that stands the test, that lays upon the altar, the dearest and the best.”

 

Scarlett looped an arm around Elwood's waist gently as he closed his eyes to the sight of the rows of crosses that lay in front of them. He slipped his arm around her shoulder to pull her close, his eyes still closed. Zee remained still and silent, and Eleanor continued to stare at the cross. She was no stranger to how fleeting life could be, nor to the grief of those left behind.

 

Somewhere inside her head, a lonely bugle rang out the Last Post, a request for silence and reflection amongst the ranks. The poppies on the wreath fluttering in a breeze, came to stillness, as if they also could hear the bugle's call.

 

Elwood had told many stories about Curtis, stories of the upbringing he had given Elwood and Jake at the Orphanage, stories of the music he had shared with them, stories of the faith he had instilled in them, and stories... that Curtis sometimes wanted to forget. He had been in his thirties when the second world war had broken out, and had been called up to serve for his country when Pearl Harbor had been brutally attacked. The scenes in China and Japan had been brutal. Civilians caught up in the fighting had related horror stories to the soldiers as they arrived in towns and villages after pushing back the occupying Japanese forces. Curtis had been injured in action and sent home.

 

In another story, Curtis had mentioned the shock he had felt upon hearing of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Both boys had been too young to comprehend the meaning of this story until much later, when the Cold War had once again intensified to a point where they could understand the chill that had run through Curtis's blood that day.

 

After arriving home, Curtis – displaced and damaged by his experiences in the war – had taken refuge in music, becoming part of a band that had toured for a while, before going their separate ways. A young Minister named Cleophus had pointed him to the Orphanage, where he finally found a steady income and a roof over his head. Not many years later, two young boys became his charges, adopted in spirit as his sons. Clearly, just as he had given of his love in the service of his country, Curtis had given of his love, to both boys as well.

 

_# And soul by soul, and silently, her shining bounds increase. Her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace. #_

 

Eleanor didn't flinch as a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked up at Elwood, his eyes hidden behind his shades, and reached for the hand on her shoulder to squeeze it comfortingly. He smiled.

 

Before following the others in leaving, Eleanor composed herself once more, and saluted to the cross, to Curtis – the man who was a hero, to his country, to the blues, and to a young boy who grew up to carry on his legacy.

 

**END**


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